


Picnic

by Severina



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Community: tv-universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle shakes her head.  "We're going on a picnic, not to the Republican convention."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picnic

**Author's Note:**

> Post Neverland. Let's just pretend that Pan stayed in that box and the good folk of Storybrooke had a chance to relax for a change, hmm? Fic #01 of 03 written for LJ's tv_universe for the prompt, "dressed up" (change the look of a character.)
> 
> * * *

In all his long years, Rumplestiltskin can never remember going on a picnic. 

He can hear Belle puttering about in the kitchen, the rattle of crockery and a muttered curse when something crashes to the tiled floor. He swipes his hands on his trousers before straightening the sleeves on his jacket and starting to rise, then settles against the back of the settee. He's certain Belle has things well in hand. And that probably wasn't the good china. Most likely.

He ignores the renewed clatter from the kitchen, tries to turn his agile mind to the day's events. He's not even sure what one does on a picnic. Besides eat. And love her though he does, Rumplestiltskin must admit that Belle is not exactly known for her mastery of the culinary arts.

There had been the one previous attempt at a picnic – interrupted, of course, by the arrival of the Charmings sniveling for his help, as always. When another crash from the kitchen startles him from the memory of that encounter, Rumplestiltskin nods to himself and rises to his feet. Perhaps a picnic is a bad idea. 

Then Belle is in the doorway, a vision in a floral sundress and a bright blue ribbon holding her hair away from her face, and he forgets that he had planned to suggest that they stay in today. He forgets how to say anything at all.

Belle does not have that problem. Her beautiful smile morphs into a frown, and she slings the hand that isn't carrying the wicker picnic basket onto her hip. "Rumple," she scolds, "you're not even dressed."

Rumplestiltskin looks down at his body – clad, as always, in the best suit that his expansive bank account can provide. "I assure you that I am, my dear."

Belle shakes her head. "We're going on a picnic, not to the Republican convention."

"Uh-uh, I am not getting roped into another political discussion with you," Rumplestiltskin teases, waving a finger at her nose. 

She merely tips her head, eyes him shrewdly. "You _can_ go outside without your armour, you know."

"Since everyone has regained their memories we've been accosted by my former protégé, her mother, my former wife's lover, and my father, all of who seem to have a particular grievance against _me_. I think I have need of this armour, sweetheart," he reminds her. He cocks his head. "You don't have a grandfather with a grudge that I should be worried about, do you?"

"I have a father with a grudge," Belle says as she sets the basket at her feet. "But don't worry, he's trying to stay on my good side."

Rumplestiltskin has a feeling that Maurice fears hurting his daughter's feelings less than another thrashing with a cane, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Belle's hands are warm on his shoulders when she comes to stand in front of him, smiling softly. "Besides, your true armour is here," – a hand presses gently against his chest – "and here," – a finger taps his temple lightly. "It always has been."

"Belle—"

"Now," she says crisply, stepping back to survey him with a critical eye. "Surely you must have something in your closet that's suitable for a picnic."

"I've removed my waistcoat," Rumplestiltskin points out. He lifts aside his jacket to prove the point. "And my tie."

"Why, you're practically naked," Belle teases. 

"If we decide to stay home today, I could be literally naked," Rumplestiltskin says. He takes a quick step forward to wrap a hand around her waist and pull her into his chest, dips his head and snakes his tongue along that spot behind her ear that makes her giggle, and is amply rewarded for his efforts when she squirms in his embrace. He meets her smile with one of his own and raises an arm with a flourish, his fingers already poised to snap. "All it would take is one simple—"

Belle reaches out quickly to wrap her hand around his fingers. "No! We’re going on a picnic, Rumple. We're going to drink ginger beer and eat the egg salad sandwiches and fruit cups I made, and I even got pie from Granny's this morning while you were still sleeping. We're going to relax and sit in the sun and enjoy ourselves." Belle nods, but then she releases his fingers and dips her head, her lower lip caught in her teeth. "Unless you… don't want to?"

Rumplestiltskin would rather be staked to the ground and tortured by fire ants than be seen lounging about on Storybrooke Common like a peasant, but this is Belle. And what Belle wants, Belle shall receive.

"I will gratefully follow in your footsteps wherever you lead, madam," he answers truthfully. He adds a courtly bow that would not have looked out of place in Sir Maurice's court. 

The smile that lights her face could power the whole town. "Well then, you need proper clothes."

Rumplestiltskin spreads his arms. "I await your suggestion, sweetheart."

"Jeans and a white button-down," Belle says promptly.

He briefly wonders just how angry Belle would be if he made their clothes vanish and transported them both into his bed instead, and decides quickly that the possible benefits do not outweigh the very real risk of her wrath. He tries not to look resigned as he snaps his fingers, then tries not to fidget when his impeccable suit is replaced by a casual shirt of crisp cotton and homespun denim trousers. He looks… common. Humble. It is not a feeling that suits.

But Belle smiles again when she looks him up and down, and that _does_ suit. Perhaps he can become accustomed to going about attired like a simple beggar if it puts that pleased twinkle in her eyes.

"Much better," Belle says. "Except… Rumple. You can't wear those shoes."

Rumplestiltskin glances down at his feet. He can almost see his reflection in the gleam of the leather, and he opens his mouth to explain that there is nothing wrong with a sturdy pair of dress shoes even when paired with something as pedestrian as denim. But he knows already where that argument would lead, and snaps his fingers with a sigh. His exquisite Ferragomo's are immediately replaced by simple leather sandals.

He shifts uncomfortably. His toes feel the most naked of all.

"Perfect!" Belle enthuses. "You'll be the most handsome man in the park." 

Rumplestiltskin feels anything but handsome as she turns away to pick up the basket, but when she takes his hand and beams at him, it simply takes his breath away. He may not be the most princely man in Storybrooke, but he is certainly the most fortunate. And he'll dress in rags and cavort like a jester in the square every Sunday if it will earn him the gift of her smile.


End file.
